History
by Typing Rebellion
Summary: They were both depressed, diverse individuals; traversing through time while immersing themselves in unrequited love. She was his princess and he was her samurai - she couldn't let him die. It was only a matter of time before, well, Yaya woke up. / AU. Kairi/Yaya.


_**Seppuku**_

_**切腹 **_

_a form of Japanese ritual suicide, originally done by dishonored samurais, by disembowelment._

_xx_

The feeling was bitter.

Kairi Sanjou watched as the love of his life was restrained by two armed men; a sword was drawn against her neck as she tried best not to howl in pain. Tears stung her eyes as they streamed down her soft cheeks, swollen due to her continuous wails that pierce his seemingly oblivious ears.

She stared at him intently - clothes ripped, body repressed, and heart shattered - as he pointed the _tantō_ directly in front of his stomach.

"You have incredulously shamed me, young samurai," Master Yamamoto bellowed, white spittle already spraying from his lips. "You have shamed me, and the _bushido_."

"I apologize, mas - "

"And for that," he continued, eyeing the constrained young lady behind him lustfully. "You owe me your life."

It only seemed like yesterday when Kairi fell in love with a Westerner - she was like a ripened peach, beautiful under the morning sun. Her youthful eyes brought forth the childhood he had long lost; and her voice was like music - mellow, puerile, and enticing to his ears.

She would gaze at him lovingly, a stubborn and playful aura enveloping her like strong perfume. Her hair had a nice dark tangerine hue, bunched up in two pigtails with red ribbons. She was soft like silk, fragile like glass, and the apple of his eye.

All was well - up to that point.

Samurais were not allowed to fall in love with foreigners - at least, that was how Yamamoto-sama viewed it. He raised Kairi with an infuriating iron fist, beleaguering his mind with a fiery patriotism and good heart. Known for his hatred for foreign powers, it dishonored Yamamoto to find his first apprentice sandwiched in a love affair with a European.

"I'm sorry," Kairi's so-called princess murmured as she gazed back at the lone samurai - _her_ samurai - in despair. "I'm sorry."

It only seemed like yesterday when they'd secretly meet atop the hill during midnight. She would hide under the bushes, waiting for him to emerge behind the _sakura _trees, his body sometimes wounded due to vigorous training. She would treat him gently, kissing the wound to make the pain disappear, and he would always cringe out of embarrassment as she wrapped him with bandages. It made her laugh, and he would disconcertedly turn away.

His eyes were a beautiful dark spring green, the same color of the soft Bermuda grass she would lie on back home. His eyes were like cute little dewdrops that sparkled when the sun would rise, and his smile was the most enchanting jewel she has ever seen. Of course, like every young woman immersed in obsessive infatuation, he was perfect in her perspective.

She was never at all engrossed by the thought of falling in love; all her life, she saw herself as a helpless little child.

She never knew she'd willingly give her everything to a dashing Japanese samurai, whom she made love with multiple times under the watchful eyes of the moonlight.

Their love affair was like playtime - a wonderful, fulfilling game of hide-and-seek behind the backs of his samurai master and her austere parents. Kairi was the risky, dangerous and yet splendid choice.

All was well - or so she thought.

Kairi held the tantō in both of his hands, shuddering due to the horrors of his death. He glanced at a red ribbon he'd used to tie around the blade, its cloth already ripped into two pieces.

Yamamoto glowered down at him with piercing black eyes, tightly fixing the _katana_ positioned by his belt. Kairi, meanwhile, looked up and took one last look at his lover.

"I love you," he mouthed, taking in the last glimpse of her proverbial beauty with such sincere awe.

With that, he drove the tantō through his abdomen, blood splattering everywhere as the knife slashed through his flesh. His _kaishakunin_ stood idly nearby, preparing his _wazikashi _for the samurai's beheading.

The young lady collapsed as she took in the death of her lover, his corpse surrendered to a harsh dictator that was his master. Her heart shattered as she watched him brutally commit suicide, his last affectionate words sealed with her piercing scream.

That was it.

All was lost.

They were history.

xx

_It was such a beautiful dream._

Yaya found herself sprawled on Kairi's bed, opening her eyes to meet his. They were like cute little dewdrops that sparkled under the rising sun, his authoritarian gaze lingering mysteriously, making him even more charming.

"Ace," he murmured, as she tried to sat up, propping her upper body up with her elbow. "It frightens me, how you easily fall asleep on men's beds like that.."

"I trust you, Kai-chi!"

"It's 'Sanjou-kun'. We're not close."

Yaya summoned a pout on her chubby face, his words piercing her like the weird sword she dreamed about while asleep. On his hands, Kairi grasped a Japanese history book protectively, eyeing her as if anytime she'd tear it up.

She couldn't help but feel a small crush on the younger boy; his dominant and serious attitude contradicting with her immaturity. They were polar opposites - he was the cold, sullen winter while she was the burning hot summer.

However, she couldn't help but feel attracted.

"Are we going to study or not?"

Yaya despised learning about history. Those boring dates and long names that seemed useless to her, and she wouldn't even need it in the future.

Kairi, however, seemed like such a history dork, and she took her failing grades to her advantage.

"Ne, Kairi," She called out to him as he browsed through the book, skimming through the numerous pages. "Could you tell me about _that _story again?"

"What story?"

Yaya sleepily rolled over across Kairi's bed, hugging a pillow for comfort.

"That story, about the pretty Western girl and the samurai who fell in love."

Kairi nodded, a slight, unconscious grin plastered across his face as he patted on a space right beside him, signaling Yaya to crawl near.

She snuggled beside Kairi, who told her of the story to his heart's content, a gleam of admiration present in his eyes.

_Maybe history wasn't so bad after all._

xx

tantō_ - a small, traditionally handcrafted Japanese knife ritually used for seppuku_

_bushido - samurai way of life _

_kaishakunin - a skilled swordsman; an appointed second whose sole duty is to behead a samurai committing seppuku_

_wakizashi - identical to tantō, yet considered as a 'short sword' instead of a 'knife' _

* * *

**A/N: Hello there! So instead of updating my other story, I bring you this Kairi/Yaya fic dedicated to all the history haters and enthusiasts. I'm a history buff myself, aha. History isn't a bad, boring thing; it's a very entertaining subject. It's beautiful. **

**This is also sort of dedicated to Azu (Hazey Rine - go check her out!), since while I was typing this up, I was talking to her about Asian History and History itself. Hahaha! I hope she cheers up, and I wish her good luck in school. **

**I sincerely apologize for not updating my other story (as if people actually read it /coughcough), and I also feel that the Kairi and Yaya pairing isn't getting the hype it deserves. So I highly encourage you to write a Kairi/Yaya fic! I'm not forcing you, however. ^^ Kairi's just one of my favorite characters, ahaha. **

**Again, I apologize for any mistakes and am encouraging constructive criticism. Please, don't hesitate to go ahead and review, I really wouldn't bite. **

**Thank you so much, and you are all beautiful people. **

**Cheers. **

**- Elias **


End file.
